


Sherlock Sickfics

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, John's kind of done, Lestrades tired, Ms.Hudson's a legend, Other, Sherlock is a Mess, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic, Terrible writing, sick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Just one-shots of Sherlock Holmes being hurt or sickUpdated every Tuesday and Thursday.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	1. Sick!

Today when John woke up, instead of Sherlock messing around in the kitchen with all his science equipment and looking at human thumbs and what-nots. John was greeted by a head full of brown curly hair laid on the couch with his back facing toward the room and his face digged into the back of the couch.

John, a little curious of what's going on with Sherlock, stepped silently closer to the couch which his flat mate laid upon.

"Sherl? You okay?" John asked quietly before repenting it a little louder to get Sherlocks attention.

Sherlock-after a quite a few seconds after John's question-turned around with a huff.

"fine John, just resting." Sherlock said with his eyes closed the whole time. 

John could tell just by looking at the detective that he was defiantly not okay. Sherlock's hair was a mess an he looked paler than normal (which John didn't even think was possible) his cheeks were flushed, and he was shaking a little bit. And at this sight, John went into doctor mode.  
"Sherlock you are not okay! Tell me what's wrong and I'll help." John stated stepping closer to his flat mate and putting the back of his hand carefully against Sherlock's forehead. 

"Jesus Sherlock! Your burning up!" John exclaimed, causing Sherlock to squeeze his eyes shut and put his hands against his ears. "John please! Try to be quiet I have a massive headache!" Sherlock whispers quietly, but forcefully.

John nodded before walking into the kitchen. "Here I'll make you some tea it'll help" John then grabbed the kettle and began to boil water.

"Aren't you going to tell me what I got? Your a doctor for Christ sake!" Sherlock mumbled as John walked in with two cups of tea. Sherlock could sometimes be sassy when he was in pain, and John knew that. But he couldn't help himself from being at least being a little sarcastic. "You just have a bug Sherl. Your not dying, though I'm sure Donovan would rather have it that way." Sherlock gave John a death glare before closing his eyes once again.

After a little while Sherlock fell asleep, which was a surprise to John because Sherlock never sleeps until he's about to pass out of exhaustion. John has tried to get Sherlock to take care of himself, but you can rarely get Sherlock to do what you want.

It went like that all day, Sherlock would sleep while John washed dishes and cleaned the house. When Sherlock was awake he would complain and said he was fine and John having to force Sherlock to stay on the couch and rest.  
By the end of the day, John was pretty tired. He was glad that it was just a small bug and should be away tomorrow so John wouldn't have to deal with an extra cranky Sherlock. He took a shower, changed, and then went down to check on a sleeping Sherlock before going into his room and falling asleep himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a panic attack, John's kind of panicking.

The great Sherlock Holmes and his best friend had just caught the serial killer at a hotel for Scotland Yard. They went to the elevator with Inspector Lestrade, As they were on the top floor and needed to get to the bottom.

Once all three of the men were in the elevator, Lestrade pushed the number one button and they all waited in silence.

Soon though, things quickly turned around for the worse. As the men were waiting, the elevator suddenly came to a halt that almost made the inspector fall.

They stood there waiting for the elevator to start again but after a while of waiting, they all came to the fact that they were not going to get out anytime soon.

Soon Sherlock started to pace back and forth across the elevator floor while John stared at him with curiosity and concern.

"You okay there mate?" John asked walking closer to Sherlock as Greg tried to call for help on his phone.

"Oh I'm fine," the detective said anxiously. John decided to leave his friend alone deciding to go back to Greg and see if he can call people for help.  
"Dammit!" Lestrade yelled while turning off his phone and putting it in his pocket, "No service looks like we're stuck here for a bit boys." After hearing Lestrade say that, John went to get his phone out of his pocket when he remembered he and Sherlock had left their phones at home so since Sherlock said 'the case is too easy and well be back in no time'.

John stood next to Lestrade and watch him look for some kind of signal, and after sending a few texts to people hoping they will see it when they get service again, the detective inspector went to play a game on his phone while John watched him play.

After a few rounds of playing the game, both the ex-army doctor and the inspector jumped at the banging sound that surrounded them. John looked up to see Sherlock banging on the elevator door very aggressively. "Jesus Sherlock!" John yelled over the noise, angrily.

The anger John felt soon turned to concern when the detective fell to the floor and back himself up against the corner of the elevator and breathing quite fast. The detective then began to rock himself back in fourth in the corner and trying to make himself smaller buy burying himself into his coat.

John and Lestrade both gave each other very concerned, but also of perplexity.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" John said quietly while slowly walking toward Sherlock while Lestrade watched him.when John got no response, he walked a little quicker to Sherlock's hunched frame. John then slowly kneeled to Sherlock's side and grabbed Sherlock's head so he could look at John.

"Sherlock I need you to breathe with me, okay?" John said quietly and calmly. John only got a small nod for a response. John then began to breathe in and breathe out staring into Sherlock's panicked eyes, while Sherlock tried to breathe with John.

And unfortunately, John's plan didn't work.

Right when John would get Sherlock to breathe somewhat normally, he would go back to hyperventilating. John knew he wasn't going to be able to get Sherlock to calm down until he was out of this elevator, and that could be a while.

After falling to get Sherlock to clam down again, John went over to Lestrade quickly.

"any signal yet?" John asked impatiently.

"No, but, soon people are going to start wondering what happened to us and why the hell the elevator isn't working. I say it'll take about thirty minutes at the most to find us...maybe another thirty to get us out." Lestrade said. "I don't think Sherlock can wait that long without passing out," John mumbled.John then turned around to walk back to Sherlock but as John got closer he saw Sherlock scratching his arm vigorously. John quickly kneeled in front of the detective and grabbed his wrists into his. "Come on Sherl breathe," John said even though he knew it wasn't going to help.

Soon it went downhill.

Sherlock started pulling at his hair and rocking back in forth while breathing way to fast for John's liking. John tried to get Sherlock's attention but it would not work no matter what he did. Soon Greg went to the elevator door and started banging on it and yelling trying to get someone to help them.

Sherlock quickly looked up and stopped rocking. He looks over at John with panic in his eyes. "Jhn" Sherlock mumbled breathlessly before his body went limp.

John quickly grabbed Sherlock's head and put the detective's head on his lap. "Why didn't anyone bloody tell me Sherlock was claustrophobic!" John yelled while he checked his best friend's pulse, way to fast for John's liking. "It never came up!" Lestrade said frantically while pacing back and forth thinking of something to do.

Soon there was a bang on the outside of the elevator door. "Hello is anybody in there?" Someone yelled. "Um, yes we have three people in here one is passed out!" John yelled back as loud as he could."Okay, luckily it seems the elevator stopped just a little under the second floor. We are going to pull the elevator doors apart and see how small the gap is, if it's too small then we'll have to fix the elevator so you can get out but if you can fit through, then we'll need you to climb out!" The man yelled.

After a long time waiting for them the get the doors open, it was finally time to get out (since luckily they were all small enough to fit through) first, John pulled Sherlock near the gap towards the officers (It wasn't hard since Sherlock was so light) the officers grabbed Sherlock and quickly pulled him up before sending him to the paramedics. Then John went up and finally Lestrade.

John quickly went over to the ambulance to see Sherlock sitting on the steps of the ambulance wearing an orange blanket around his shoulders and an oxygen mask on his face. This time Sherlock kept the blanket on his shoulders but he had a grumpy look on his face. John laughed quietly just glad that they all got out of there and that Sherlock was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to post this Thursday, so sorry! I'll post another chapter for tomorrow so I don't forget.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hasa depressive episode, John tries to help.

Heavy.

Everything felt so heavy to Sherlock when he woke up this morning.

When Sherlock woke up in his bed, instead of his usual running around right when he wakes up or not even sleeping at all, he just laid in bed staring at the ceiling silently. And for what felt like the first time for Sherlock, he felt tired. Even just rolling over on his back made him feel exhausted.

After laying there for who knows how long, Sherlock finally decided to get up and get ready for the day. He slowly got out of bed before slowly grabbing his clothes and changing.

This type of feeling was not new to the detective. He had felt this since he was in middle school, but it was much worse back then. He did not feel sad, but he didn't feel happy either, it was the feeling of emptiness, but at the same type this feeling of everything being too much.

Sherlock never told anybody about his state of mental health, it never came up. Only his brother and Lestrade knew about this, and that's how Sherlock wanted to keep it, he did not want to be a burden or hurt his facade he has tried to put on through the years.  
Sherlock walked into the living room tiredly, barely noticing his surroundings. He fell on to the sofa before rolling onto his side and curling up on himself and then burying his head into the cushions. He closed his eyes.

He just wished something would happen, but at the same time just wishing time would stop so he could just lie here forever. He knew it would pass, it always did, but at the same time he could not stop thinking 'what if it didn't?' What if this time it would last forever. He wanted so badly to just leave, just leave everything behind and run away, he wanted to do something Goddammit! He didn't feel the need to cry, but maybe if he did he would feel better, but he could not, he could not do anything instead of lay here and wait for sleep.

And thank God it did.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John woke up at about 12 p.m, Which surprised him. Usually, Sherlock would come and wake him up at some ungodly hour of the morning to go on a case, or he would be woken to the sound of Sherlock playing his violin. But today when the army doctor woke, it was silent. And that made John worry.

Don't get it wrong, John loved the quiet! But after living with the detective for a while he began to realize Sherlock would sometimes get into these moods. When he was in these moods he would either just lay around for days on end barely eating, well barely doing anything for that matter. Or sometimes he would play his violin. he would leave the flat without telling John and wouldn't be back for hours. He would also talk little, or sometimes not at all. 

John quickly got dressed before going towards the living area. He came in silently looking for Sherlock. He then spotted a pile of curly hair peeking out of the armchair of the sofa. John walked into the kitchen and decided to make some eggs and toast for him and Sherlock.

Once the food was ready, he walked into the living room carrying the two plates of eggs and toast.

He sat then plates on the table before sitting on the sofa next to Sherlock.

"Sherlock? You awake?" John asked quietly. All he got in response was a soft moan." You need to eat, okay?" John said soothingly while he pushed one of the plates towards his best friend.

"Not hungry," said a muffled voice.

"I haven't seen you eat in while, when was the last time you had something?"

"Monday morning"

"Jesus Sherlock it's Thursday! Eat!" John stated before picking up his food and eating.

After John ate all his food on his plate, and when Sherlock finished picking at his plate, John got up and grabbed both plates before putting them in the sink.

John then grabbed a book his was reading and sat on the sofa beside Sherlock. John realized that when Sherlock was like this it was best to not ask questions unless he starts talking first. John has also realized that it's important to still be near him.

After a while of just sitting next to his best friend and reading his book, John felt Sherlock move around and then felt something laying on his shoulder. John then moved his head to rest on the detective's curly hair. The army doctor soon began to hear soft snores coming from his flatmate, he smiled before putting his book up and sitting there with Sherlock sleeping on his shoulder before sleep finally consumed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never struggled with depression, so I can't be sure if I explained it correctly, but I tried to get it as close as I could from the research I did.


	4. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get in a car crash!

"God Sherlock you can not drive for shit!" John yelled before turning back in his seat to see if anyone was trying to gang up behind them.

"Well, I'm trying to chase these idiots that call themselves criminals on this narrow road!" Sherlock fired back. John just rolled his eyes in response.

John was sitting in the back seat of a car Sherlock hijacked looking out making sure no one was behind them, while Sherlock was driving, chasing the people in the car ahead who stole from banks all around London.

Soon they were on a very curvy road with forests all around them. The detective pushed on the gas harder. They were so close to the car ahead, they were finally going to catch the culprits, justice was going to be served!

But then things went downhill.

Quite literally.

Before either of the boys could process what was going on, there was a terrible screeching noise before they felt the car go down a very steep hill. Then, John heard something like a water bottle being crushed, finally, everything went black.

John woke a few minutes later.  
He quickly looked around at his surroundings before deducting what happened. There was broken class littered in the back seat of the car. Suddenly John remembered he wasn't the only one in the car.

Sherlock.

John opened the door, with great difficulty, before falling to the grass on the ground. John got to his feet, feeling a pain in his chest. 'Bruised ribs.' John thought as he leaned against the car. John then felt the metallic taste of blood. John slowly put his arm up to his lips ( as to not hurt he bruised ribs more). John felt warm liquid running from the nose to his lips. He then slowly felt his nose. 'Broken nose as well'. 

John checked over himself as quickly as he could, once he saw he was in no grave danger, he walked quickly over to the front of the car and gasped at what he saw.

The front of was smashed into a tree and smoked slowly raised from the automobile. John ran over towards the driver seat and opened the door. Sherlock was sitting in the driver's seat clearly unconscious, his head up against the steering wheel.

"Sherlock?" John said loudly, hoping he would wake up.

He didn't.  
John broke the window next to Sherlock, hoping he could get Sherlock out like that since there was clearly no way he was going to get that smashed door opened. John carefully grabbed his flatmate by the shoulders before moving to Sherlock's waist and pulling his light body out f the car as carefully as he possibly could. 

John then carefully slid down to the ground and laying Sherlock down and putting his head on his lap.

John then began to inspect his flatmate for severe injuries. 'bruises, cuts, and defiantly a broken leg, and potentially two cracked ribs,' John thought to himself as he examined his friend. 

John suddenly remembered he had a phone. A surge of hope coursed through his body as he carefully raised his hand towards his coat pocket and pulled out his phone.

He pulled up his message app and clicked on Lestrade's icon first, deciding he would be the best for the situation at the moment. 

There was a car crash, Sherlock's unconsciouses we are somewhere near maiden road, send help asap- JH

Unfortunately, the text did not send. There was no signal where they were. " Shit!" John said under his breath." Okay, Sherl I need you to wake up!" John said patting his face before checking his pulse again, he was okay for now.

John then sent a text to Donovan, Ms. Hudson ( he was not sure why he sent her a message but anyone would do) and finally, he sent Mycroft a message, hoping they would get signal and all the messages would send.

" Come on you bastard get up I need to make sure you're okay!" John said angrily. Sherlock did not stir.

"Fine, I'm going to go look for help!" John muttered angrily before gently sliding Sherlock onto the ground and getting up slowly, as to not hurt his ribs more.

He looked around. All there was around them were trees. Trees and trees and trees, it never seemed to stop. John wanted to find some road but he defiantly did not want to leave Sherlock here all by himself, not knowing how bad Sherlock might be until he wakes up. John wandered around a bit before slowly heading back towards the car and where he left his best friend. John felt helpless, and for the first time in a long time, he could not do anything about it. He just had to hope that someone would come before it's too late.

John could see the car in the distance, he walked slowly back to the car, hoping he would wake up and this would all be a dream.  
"John!"

John looked around, wondering who was calling his name.

"John?" Said the voice again, but this time the voice sounded desperate.

Sherlocks awake.

John ran as fast as he possibly could (Which wasn't that fast) trying to get the Sherlock. When he got there, Sherlock was laying where he had left him, breathing hard. John ran to his side and got to his knees to check his friend.

" Are you okay?" John asked urgently, know it was a dumb question right after it left his mouth.

" No, of course, I'm not bloody okay!" Sherlock hissed.

Jhoon did some exams on the detective finding nothing to life-threatening. A broken leg, broken ribs, and a minor concussion. John attended to his flatmate the best he possibly could. And after they just stayed there John shaking Sherlock so he wouldn't fall asleep and just waiting, hoping help would come.John shook Sherlock for what felt like the 50th time making sure he wouldn't fall asleep. Sherlock muttered under his breath insults towards John. But John didn't care, because he could hear sirens in the distance. John felt like it was Christmas! No, he felt more joy than Christmas, it was a feeling of joy and relief he has ever felt in his life.

The sirens got closer every second. John got up, wincing with pain, before walking towards the noise.

He saw an ambulance with its lights blinding him, he looked away from the ambulance and saw Mycroft with his bloody umbrella talking to one of the medics. One medic noticed him and quickly;y walked towards him, forcing him to follow and sit down on the ambulances step. " Someone go get Sherlock! He's lying on the ground through there!" John yelled, his force hoarse, and pointing from where he came from. Medics grabbed a stretcher and ran towards where John pointed.

Mycroft slowly walked up to where John was sitting looking down upon him. But then John thought something. " Wait, how did you find us? I thought I didn't have any servi-" 

" Ugh ordinary people and their ordinary little brains. I obviously tracked where Sherlock was- like I always do- and thought it quite odd that he was laying in the middle of a forest for an hour." Mycroft replied. John smiled, realizing everything was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking So long to update I'm currently writing a book!


	5. Rainy days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets sick from being in the rain for too long

John was sitting in his chair drinking tea and listening to the rain outside quietly. Sherlock was out on a small case and John was enjoying his short time being alone in the quiet flat. 

After a few short hours of reading and relaxing, John began to hear the sound of someone coming up the steps. Soon enough, the door opened to reveal a soaking wet Sherlock. The detective stood next to the door for a few seconds before plopping himself on the sofa with his normal grace. John closed his book and laid it on the table next to him before getting a good look of his best friend.

Sherlock was drench in rain from head to toe. If John hadn't of known were Sherlock went to he would have assumed he went swimming with his clothes on for about an hour. But the thing that had to of baffled the army doctor the most, had to be seeing the detective with his eyes closed looking about half asleep.

"Sherlock?"

No response.

"Sherlock? You okay mate?"

Still nothing.

"Bloody hell you're making this way more difficult than it has to be!"A huff came from the detective before he opened his eyes and stared at John. "What do you want?" His voice came out scratchy and horse.

"Are you okay?" John replied staring at his best friend with intensity. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed for a moment before they opened again.

"M'fine" 

John sighed before getting up and walking into the kitchen. "Do you want anything to eat?"

Sherlock grimaced. "My digestive system says I'd rather not."

"Soup it is!"

~~~~~~~~~

"Sherlock I swear to god if you do not put this thermometer in your mouth I will call Mycroft this bloody instant!" John exclaimed after his-what felt like the hundredth- attempt to get Sherlock's temperature. The detective gave him a death glare before opening his mouth wide enough to let the army doctor put the thermometer in his mouth.  
After a few long minutes the thermometer beep. John took the thermometer out of his friend's mouth and checked what it said.

"37.5, not that bad, but I still suggest that-"

Sherlock gave him a smirk.

"- I still ENFORCE that you stay in bed resting until I declare that you're better," John said putting the thermometer on the table before walking closer to his friend. 

"I now want you to go change into something warmer and then heading straight to your bed," John said sternly. Sherlock sighed in annoyance before slowly getting up and walking towards his bedroom. John smirking as he heard his friend muttering curses at him under his breath all the way there.

John grabbed his book he sat down earlier and situated himself comfortably into his chair.

"And when I go in your room to see if you followed my instructions and you haven't, I will make you wait longer for a case!" John yelled.  
John then opened his book before immersing himself into it deeply.

The last thing he heard was Sherlock saying "This is all rubbish" angrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed


	6. Mints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has allergy's that John didn't know about.

Sherlock Holmes had a case. And it was difficult. He was ecstatic.

There apparently was a murder in a small 24/7 cafe in the middle of the night. No cameras, no sign of struggle, and no one knows what the person looks like. This one seemed impossible. But nothing is impossible to the great Sherlock Holmes!

Everyone was gathered around the body of a young redheaded lady in her early thirties with a gunshot in the head. Likely an instant death John thought. After a while of Sherlock staring at the bullet hole before deducing that the gun had to be a 'semiautomatic pistol and anyone who didn't know this right off had to be a certified idiot", everyone just huffed and rolled their eyes.

After a few hours of looking around the shop and Sherlock being an absolute pain the arse, Lestrade and Anderson came back with some brownies. "Women from the cafe told us to have these," Lestrade said. John grabbed one while Sherlock just raised a dismissive hand while staring at a small hole in the wall. 

"Sherlock"

No response.

"Sherlock"...

"Sherl-"

"Fine Jesus I'll eat the damn brownie John!" Sherlock snatched up the brownie and took a bit, He tasted mints. Oh no.

"Happy?" Sherlock said while forcing himself to swallow it.

"Very" John replied. He never eats enough.

After a few minutes (and a few more brownies with Lestrade) Sherlock starts coughing. John dismisses like everyone else. He continues to cough.

"Sherlock? You good mate?" Johns asks.

"Hm?Oh yeah fine just a bit of a scratchy throat." Sherlock says hoarsely. John assumed all the near-death experiences from strangulation must have finally got to the detective, but he kept his eye out for him. Sherlock's breathing started to sound ragged, almost like he couldn't breathe.

"I, uh, think I need to sit down for a bit digestive system doesn't seem to be up to par today." The detective said breathlessly while stumbling his way to get to a small table across from him.   
John now knew something was wrong, defiantly wrong. John got closer to Sherlock and inspected him. Difficulty breathing, stomach problems, seems like patient may suffer from dizziness, coughing. The only thing that Sherlock could have was an allergic reaction. But Sherlock's never told him he has an allergy. John doesn't know much about Sherlock to be completely honest because the bastard never tells him things.

Okay, allergic reaction, what could he be allergic to? He hasn't eaten today. Wait.

Damnit he had brownies.

But what was different about the brownies? John's made brownies all the time and has made Sherlock eat them. He was fine every time. Wait, these brownies tasted different, they tasted.

Minty.

Sherlock's allergic to mints.

"Sherlock you really got to tell me things!" John said quietly enough for only Sherlock to hear. Sherlock just nods, resting his head on the wall while keeping his eyes close.

"Okay, Sherlock, mate I need you to stay with us okay? Donovan, go call 999 tell them we've got a man with an Anaphylaxis reaction, be quick!" Sally nodded her head quickly before pulling out her phone. John grabbed Sherlock's arm and checked his pulse. A bit fast, but not too severe.  
"Wait, what's going on?" Lestrade said walking up beside John looking worried.

"Well turns out Sherlock here has an allergy to mints that he never told anyone? I guess it never came up did it, Sherlock?" John said, smiling a bit at the last part. Sherlock just gave a smirk back.

Soon the ambulance came and carried Sherlock into the ambulance quickly, John following quickly behind. Sherlock was going to be fine, he knew it. And John was really excited to never let the detective live down the time he had to be taken into an ambulance in front of all his coworkers. Not a lot of people know this, but Sherlock gets embarrassed by small things like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked I thank you for reading. I'm planning on writing another fan fiction soon that isn't Sherlock related, but if you happen to be in that fandom, please. check it out :)


	7. Sleepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't the care of himself, so looks like John will have to.

This case was one of the hugest ones they have had in a while. Obviously, Sherlock was excited and was practically dancing as he was making his way to grab his large coat. And as much as John was happy that Sherlock had something to do other than lecture John about " You don't know the different kinds of tobacco and where they're from" and then beginning to rant about how the idiots at Scottland yard would be nothing without him. John has learned to shut his mouth when Sherlock doesn't have a case and criticizes everyone's existence except his own. John once replied, "And who doesn't know the solar system?" Let's just say that ended quite badly.

The only problem was when Sherlock was on a case (and a hard only at that); he rarely slept or ate. John would literally have to have him on gunpoint for Sherlock to finish his bowl of cereal.

This case was difficult. But Sherlock solved it. It just took time. And Sherlock obviously didn't sleep. If he did, John did not see it, and the detective must not have slept much if he did. You could see dark bags under his eyes. 

The case was most difficult because the person (or people) was entirely anonymous. All we knew was that this man used the same gun in different places way too far away for him to get there in time. But the victims who survived from the stabbing of the mysterious man, say that he has black short hair, and emerald green eyes, ones that gave the illusion of some-how shinning in the dark. They were also described quite short with a more rounded faceWell, we searched and searched until we found out that the man was indeed a woman. Before figuring out, it was a bunch of siblings from a broken home, trying to kill people for money to feed their drug addiction.

So here, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes stood talking to Lestrade about the case.

Well, John did most of the talking. 

John could tell Sherlock was about to fall asleep. To everyone around them, it might have looked like he was just shielding his eyes from the ever blinding sun. But John could tell by how Sherlock was slightly hunched over. 

"How about we finish this at your flat, it's getting quite late and they want to close it up," Lestrade said while moving towards one of the cabs parked near the sidewalk. "Sure," John said before putting his hand on Sherlock's upper arm to get his attention.

They all three managed to get in the back of the small cab. With John in the middle and Sherlock and Lestrade on either side. Sherlock has his head propped on his hand with his eyes closed. Lestrade is silently playing "Angry Birds" 

Once they got to the flat, Greg jumped out quickly and heading towards the already opened door (Ms. Hudson knew how tired they both were and usually left the door slightly opened after they finished a case so they could go to sleep faster).John tugged on Sherlock lightly, "Come on Sherl, you gotta get out"

Sherlock mumbled something he couldn't quite understand before the detective pushed himself up and out of the cab. John quickly paid the driver before him, and Sherlock soon went in.

Once they were inside, John closed the door and locked it behind him. While he was doing this, he heard a loud noise next to him and quickly turned around.

There on the floor was Sherlock on the floor, apparently thinking this was a good place for a nap.

The idiot.

"Sherlock, you have to get up!" Sherlock just mumbled something incoherent and put his arm over his head.

"Sherlock, I am not carrying you up those steps! So get up!" John bent over to grab Sherlock's arm, trying to yank him up without hurting him. 

The boys eventually made it up the staircase to their flat (Sherlock leaning on John most of the time and John cursing under his breath of having not just to carry his weight but Sherlock as well) and there was Lestrade sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in his hand a leftover donut John bought at the bakery down the street in hopes of getting Sherlock to eat something.  
"I'll go put him to bed and then we can carry on with our chat," John said as he steered Sherlock towards his bedroom. Once John got him and the detective there, he tried his best to get the detective onto the bed comfortable before pulling to covers to the sleeping man's chin.

"You bastard," John said in a loving way before exiting and closing the door softly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :)


	8. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's sick, Sherlock doesn't know what to do, but he's got the spirit.

John woke up with a pounding headache. It felt as though someone was hitting his head with a hammer repeatedly. He groaned before slowly getting out of his bed. Maybe it would pass, him and Sherlock were up late last night playing some stupid game John can't exactly remember. 

The army doctor walked into the living room and sat on the couch before putting his head in his hands. Maybe if he just slept a little more, he'd feel better. John slowly laid back onto the couch and fell asleep almost instantly.

Sherlock woke up feeling , well, great! Usually he was tired, or sprained and ankle from running, or his mind giving him a head ache because his concuss was like a small toddler who was incredibly inquisitive. But today,the detective felt perfectly rested with no pain at all. Sherlock loved it. He got up before putting on his suit and getting ready for the day ahead.

He walked into the living room to see a sleeping John on the couch. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the sleeping man before going to the cluttered kitchen to make some coffee.

Once Sherlock sat down in his favorite chair with his favorite cup that posses delicious black liquid inside. The detective looked over to see John. His face was quite flushed and he moved around a little while he slept. After Sherlock finished his cup of coffee he ambled over towards his flatmate. He stared at the sleeping man with a form of enamor. He could never tell the man, but Sherlock did love him, which was a human flaw and he knew, and told anyone that, but god, it felt like an amazing flaw to have. Yes it was dangerous, but that's what Sherlock seeks, what gave him adrenaline that he desires. He could never tell the sleeping form n the couch. He was sure the man must be straight after all, he has had at least a dozen girlfriends since he's met him. But the man couldn't ignore the voice in the back of his head saying quietly, "But what if?". 

Sherlock went to put his mug in the overflowing sink before grabbing a book on his desk and began to read, looking over at the army doctor every once and a while.

When John woke up he knew something was wrong. The headache was still there and as strong as ever. He also noticed how his throat itched like someone was dragging nails across the inside of his throat. And he felt hot, but cold at the same time. John moaned as he rolled over to face the the room.

"Ah you're awake, I thought you'd never wake up." John opened his eyes slightly and looked over to the man who was reading a book.

"I've been thinking," The detective started, still staring at his book, turning the page every few minutes.

"Oh it's never good when you start thinking alone" John stated, his voice horse.

"-that you must be sick" Sherlock stated, turning the page once again.  
"No shit,Sherlock." The army doctor said before making himself get up and make himself a cup of tea to help his throat, as well as grab some medicine. 

"Wait! Where are you going?" Sherlock said quickly, setting his book down. 

"I'm going to make tea" John said quite rudely, he's always cranky when he's sick.

There was silence for a while before the Detective did something that John never thought he would do.

"Do you want me to help? I could make the tea and all those things, really." Sherlock said before getting off his chair and strided over to the doctor. John stood there aghast for a few seconds. 'The great Sherlock Holmes, wanting to help? What has happened to the world?' 

"Yeah that'd be nice, actually." John went to go lay down on the couch, resting his eyes. 

Soon John could smell tea being made, he sighed in delight. 

Soon Sherlock gave the sick man a cuppa before walking off and coming back with his arms full of blankets.

The detective then went to read, not saying a word through any of this. 

John smiled softly, while drinking his tea.John would look at Sherlock every once and a while, trying to somehow study the man.

This detective would be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> -Atlas


	9. Spectacles (part1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs glasses, but the detective refuses to acknowledge it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :)  
> -Atlas

Sherlock sat cross legged in his chair, reading a book. He already knew the ending, even though he was only on page twenty-six. It was obvious to him that Crowley and Aziraphale would save the world from the anti-Christ. He also knew they were incredibly gay for each other.

The detective gave an exasperated sigh before changing positions on the chair, now hanging some-what up-side down.

He was incredibly, positively, exceptionally, bored.

John decided that they weren't making enough money to financially support John, his daughter, and Sherlock's "shenanigans" (whatever that was supposed to mean). So John has now resided to clocking in more hours at the clinic. This happening, left Sherlock even more bored and lonely, Rosie was at daycare, John at work, and now all Sherlock has is this god for saken book! He was even frustrated with the weather, it's been quite a difficult winter so far in London. And no murderer was willing to get themselves frostbitten for some blood, which Sherlock found strangely amusing.

The ex-army doctor thought that maybe giving his flatmate a four-hundred page book would at least keep him occupied enough until he got home, that idea died quick or in a sense, worked exceptionally well.The detective would have thrown the book away ages ago, mopping around and calling to no one, thinking maybe Ms.Hudson would hear his whining and come and at least give him tea. But, Sherlock had to prove something, even if he was the only one in the room. So, he kept reading.

To be blunt, he was having a difficult time reading the book. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, not even himself.

The words spinned, as if they were riding a carousel. And everything was all blurry like when you just wake up and the lights are turned on, and in general, difficult to understand. He's had this problem before, but usually he could still get through the book with more ease than the average person, but after a while he assumed, his eyes have gotten worse. He refused to admit it though, he still kept trying to trug through and finish the book just so when John walks in he can shove the read book up to him and show that he did indeed finish it, and didn't throw it away, like the army doctor said he would.

This is why when John walked through the door to see his flatmate laying diagonally across his chair, almost resembling a worm, with the book he gave his friend earlier, shoved up against the detectives face, and squinting at the page.

John had to hold in a laugh as he walked into the kitchen to put up some groceries he picked up on his way home."Sherlock what the hell are you doing" John said as he strutted, the bags of food slowing him some-what down.

"readin'" came the muffled reply, as the detective has positioned himself yet again, now cheek smooshed into the armrest of the chair, book inches away from his face.

"Oh, well I didn't know you were supposed to read like that."

"Well, you are. Obviously"

John had a plan, this was his only shot. 

The ex-army doctor knew that Sherlock has always had a problem reading. When there wasn't a case sometimes John would just make them both tea before sitting down in his chair, Sherlock either sitting in the chair across from him, or lounging on the couch, and the both would read. But every time they did this, John would sometimes look over at Sherlock, who would have the book quite close to his face, often squinting. And as the years past, the book scooted a little bit closer to Sherlock's face when he read.

John has tried to get his flatmate to go and get his eyes checked multiple times over the years, but his concern was pushed to the side by a "Of course I don't see glasses, are you blind, wait, wrong wording" and the frequent, "My eyes are fine, maybe you're the once who needs to get their eyes checked" or the silence when Sherlock just decided to be a prick and ignore him that day.He felt for the detective, and he knew if he didn't at least get glasses, they would continue to worsen. So the detective would just have to suck it up and go get his eyes checked, or swear to god John will make him do it, which he knows that is something neither of the boys want.

To be continued...


	10. Spectacles (Part2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go get glasses

"How about you read some to me, yeah? Just to make sure your reading skills are up to par" John began after he put the last of the groceries up, moving to sit in his chair.

"You've seen me read loads of times on cases John. Plus don't you have to pick Rosie up from daycare?" Sherlock asked, he was suspicious.

John waited a bit to answer, getting comfortable in his chair before continuing.

"Well yes, but she can wait at daycare for a couple more minutes for me to just hear a bit of the story you're reading."

John heard the detective mumble a fine before he picked up the book that was discarded on his lap, holding it a couple inches from his face. Sherlock cleared his throat before reading,

"Uhhh, what's that word there? hm...Oh! Aziraphale walked around the boat and....wait no that can't be boat can it? Let's see-"

"Sherlock, you can stop now, we need to talk about something" John interrupted, waiting for the storm that is Sherlock to break free once he tells him he definitely needs glasses."You just told me you want me to read and then not even a sectance later you want me to stop? Seriously John I thought it'd be easy to decide what you want with that small mind you have."

John sighed but ignored the insult, "Listen I've noticed over the years your eyesight has gotten worse and worse and-"

"Has not!"

"-and I think you need to go get your eyes checked, like as soon as possible."

John waited for Sherlock to respond. The ex army doctor looked at his watch and saw the daycare would close in twenty minutes.

"There is no way in hell I'm going to get my eyes checked!" Sherlock yelled, throwing the book across the room as if he were a toddler having a tantrum. John and he needed to go get Rosie before the daycare closed, she never liked being picked up late he noticed.

"Yeah sure, let's just go and get Rosie and we'll talk about this later." Sherlock looked as if he was about to say something back, before deciding against it, grabbing his coat and heading straight out the door, leaving John still in the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The ride to the daycare was terrible, all Sherlock wanted to talk about was how amazing and 'above average' his sight is. Pointing at road signs to prove his point.

"See John that sign says 'No U-turns'"

"Sherlock that's a stop sign."

Once they actually arrived at the daycare and picked up Rosie, was when Sherlock finally settled down. His friend never came off as a child loving kind of guy, but the doctor could tell the detective cared for the small Watson that was being held in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~

After eating some take-out (well Sherlock didn't eat anything) and finally getting Rosie to sleep, it was time to finally call the eye doctor's office down the street from them.

"Hello, yes I was wondering if I can book an appointment to get my friends eyes checked tomorrow?" He saw Sherlock perk up from where he was sitting in his chair, curled up.

After giving the woman at the desk all the things she needed from him, it was decided that tomorrow at 5:30 would be when Sherlock got his eyes checked.

John then said goodnight to Sherlock and went to his room to change and then eventually, go to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"John, this is insanely idiotic." Sherlock said, looking at John in the seat over from him in the cab. They were less than five minutes away from the office, and ever since the day began his roommate has been trying to show how good his eyesight is, and failing terribly.

"And you're the one saying I need glasses when you go out and buy a shirt with the word 'flamingo' on it" Sherlock had said a couple hours earlier, sipping on his coffee.

"Sherlock it doesn't say flamingo, it says the name of a football team you prick."  
Finally the cab rolled to a stop, Sherlock made an annoyed noise before jumping out of the cab, leaving John to pay. At least he got through the worst part, John kept telling himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ John walked into the the building silently, hearing Sherlock scoff as he looks around inside. John rolled his eyes before walking towards the lady at the desk.

The lady smiled at him as he began to talk, "I scheduled an appointment a while ago."

The women pulled up something on her computer before asking him another question.

"Name?"

"Sherlock Holmes"

She typed in the name before clicking on things for a while before stating it'll be a few minutes. John then walks over and sits beside the detective in the waiting room.

After a couple minutes the door opened to have a man with jet black hair and brown eyes behind it, a clipboard in his hand .

"Sherlock Holmes?" The detective made an annoyed sigh before standing up and walking through the door. John look at the places magazine selection before picking one up that looked promising and began reading it. 

After about an hour, the detective walked out through the door he exited from original, with black framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. John looked up to see the man with a frown, The doctor smiled and walked up towards his friend, them walking out of the building after paying, and heading towards the daycare, since it was just a few minutes away. 

"So how was it?" John asked his friend, excited to know how everythign was.

"Horrible." 

"Now come on I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

The detective didn't comment and just looked away.

"I'm sure Rosie will love your new look." John said smiling.

The detective turned his head, but John caught a glimpse of a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :)
> 
> -Atlas


	11. Quarantine Smurantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is really tired of this whole Quarantine thing.

It had already begun spitting outside, signaling another rainstorm was about to strike London yet again. Sherlock wanted to be out in it. Feel the raindrops hit his face as he runs after the suspect, he's cheeks red from the cold. 

But no! Some viruses had to come and take a crime away from him. He wasn't exactly laid off per se. But for some reason, people were beginning to be nice to each other. It was utterly disgusting. To make things worse, this was when John decided it would be a good time for "Self-care" and "having a healthy diet". Sherlock tried to block his flatmate out when he tried to make him do something. But for some reason, an angry John with a plate of toast in his hands wasn't very easy to ignore.

Everything was boring! Bored bored bored! He tried to distract himself by shooting the wall again, but that quickly died when Ms. Hudson came to yell at him and take his weapon away. He spent the rest of that day being moody like when a toddler didn't get the toy they wanted.

He tried experiments, but that got suspended when he accidentally mixed up the chemicals and made an explosion in the kitchen. It smelt like a year old eggs for a week. 

John wasn't home a lot anymore anyways. Since he was a doctor, he had to treat a lot of patients. And most of the time left for work in an ungodly hour and didn't return until late, or sometimes not until the next day. Ms. Hudson took this opportunity to gossip about her friend over tea with Sherlock. And although he loved talking about what a bitch this Mary Anne was. He could already know everything about her after a couple of gossip sessions with his landlady.   
When Sherlock didn't do that, he spent his time updating his blog, posting on Twitter frequently, and, if he was desperate for excitement, sometimes even text his brother early in the morning just so he'd have to wake up and see it, (Sherlock knew once his brother was up he couldn't fall back asleep) which sparked an odd joy int he detective.

When Mycroft finally blocked his number on all social platforms, and Twitter got boring. He'd give in and make some popcorn and watch crappy telly, yelling at the screen at the idiots on the show; which were almost everyone.

Although Sherlock undoubtedly despised this, he knew it was for the better, (even though he couldn't order anymore finger without it being "a hazard" or "wrong") he just could not wait for everything to be normal again. And not have to get another damn letter from Lestrade and his terrible writing skills because for some reason Lestrade thought this was a perfect opportunity to use the quill pen Molly gave him for Christmas. He puts a wax sell on an already glued envelope! Who does that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short and not really a sick fic but I thought it would be a fun idea! Hope you liked it :)
> 
> -Atlas


	12. The Cost Of Self Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Sherlock has seen and valued himself through the years.

When everyone thought of Sherlock Holmes, they always thought of the selfish prick who always had to be right. (And almost all the time, was right.) Sure some thought different things than others. His landlady thought he was sweetheart under his cold mask. Even though he shot up her wall too many times to count, and played that violin at ungodly hours of the night. She still loved him, almost like a son she never had. Lestrade always thought of him as his best friend, and to John, the detective was his best friend. But what did Sherlock think about well, Sherlock?

The question isn't a very difficult question to answer, he's solved way, way worse than this, yet it always was the one that he could never quite figure out. The question somehow was like a train station in his mind, but with tracks twisting and turning, and some that never even connected, leading on to more questions, until he had to stop thinking before his mind exploded. How did Sherlock Holmes think about himself? He wasn't sure, even after all the years of thinking that he did, his answer twisting into an entirely new one, before quickly transforming to another, his answer always changing.

When the detective was growing up, he never really thought, or cared that much about his self-image. He had more things to plan out and think about. Like school work, and what college he'd go to, what job he'd pursue. Yeah, the kids at school would yell and call him things, but kids are assholes. It's common knowledge, he's not going to let a child get in his way of becoming something, being successful.

Even though the man wouldn't admit it to this day. The yelling and name-calling got to him worse at night, in his dark childhood room. Like ghosts plaguing his mind, remembering every word that he was taunted by. So he did what he did best, he built around it. He became cold and secluded. Only coming out of his room for dinner when his mother called, but even sometimes skipping that. He had things to learn, and people to prove wrong. Books began pilling up on his desk, paperwork strewn across his room. His handwriting flowing from page after page after page. In primary school, he had the reading level of a secondary schooler and could solve unimaginable equations in a couple of minutes. Yes, he had eye bags that looked like bruises, and he grew skinny from missed meals. But he was a genius, who was going to go to a school full of people like him when he gets older. The children continued to yell at him and belittle him. But he was the genius, and they weren't.

Then he went to university, one of the hardest ones to get into. All the sleepless nights and hard work paid off. But he quickly realized, it was a mistake. In this school, he wasn't the gifted child, the genius who was going somewhere while the kid in the back picked his nose. No, it wasn't like that at all, everyone in this school was a genius. He was at the top of all his classes for the first semester, but he wasn't the best, wasn't the absolute most he could be. So he studied more. Coffee always was glued to his hand, and a pencil in his other. He studied every night, always did more than was needed of him. If the professor asked for a six paged essay, he wrote a twelve-page one. If there could be extra credit, he'd do it in a heart beat. But still, he wasn't the genius of the school. Was he at the top of his classes? Yes. But people weren't behind him as much as they were in public school, and that affected him deeply, his whole person being centered around something only to find it was fake, something everyone made up. But he had to prove them right. He wanted to be the best, and won't stop until he is.

The detective has always been full of energy, even baffling John with his sleeping schedules and eating habits. The doctor not knowing how the man still runs. But in university, he reached his limits, and even beyond them. He began to slow. Coffee wasn't enough, he couldn't concentrate and he began to lose hope. He was so tired of school, the whispering following him where ever he went. He knew they probably weren't talking about him, but he felt like they were, talking about how much of a failure he is. The professors giving him pity looks when he walked into class. He knew he was an idiot, he didn't need their pity to understand that. He hated it when a professor would pull him aside and ask if he was doing alright. He always knew they were hoping something was just wrong with him right now and that that thing would pass, but no, he was just an idiot on his own, nothing affecting his logic, or lack thereof. After the first year, he dropped out and began studying crime on his own. 

years have passed since his university days. He became something through those years, tried to pretend to be the genius, didn't let those hateful words get to him like they didn't in school, because they didn't, he was gifted, so why would they? He solved the crime and saved lives, besides people he might even admit he loves. So what did Sherlock Holmes see when he looked in the mirror. He saw a lot of things, things he can't even begin to explain, questions popping in his head than answers, problems with no solutions, effects with no cause. But in a weird way, it was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it
> 
> -Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> Soo yeah that was the first chapter...
> 
> It wasn't that good because I wanted to go ahead and put the first chapter up so I just decided for Sherlock to have a bug so that's why it didn't go in much detail. But it will in the next chapter since I will research and plan ahead.
> 
> But if you have an idea then leave it in the comments and if you like the chapter then maybe favorite it? I don't know do what you want....
> 
> Maybe even follow? But you don't have too


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